


Pressed down, hidden up

by unknownlifeform



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Celebrimbor's Life is a Tragedy, Gen, Introspection, Non-Linear Narrative, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, can't believe that's a tag btw but it does sum up this fic quite well, other characters show up but they aren't too important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownlifeform/pseuds/unknownlifeform
Summary: Celebrimbor has seen his family lose themselves. He's determined to not end up like them. If he only tries hard enough, then maybe, maybe he will be able to trick Mandos into believing he doesn't deserve to be Doomed as well.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	Pressed down, hidden up

**Author's Note:**

> me: how did Celebrimbor, who had seen all that fucked up shit in the First Age, trust Sauron when the simple idea of a guy named "Lord of Gifts" sounds like a trap  
> also me: *cracks nuckles* time to give this boy bad coping mechanisms

“You are hard a strange one,” Narvi had told him, once.

“You had said many times that you find Elves to be strange folk, mellon,” Celebrimbor had replied, “so this does not surprise me. But tell me what it is that puzzles you about me, and I will try to explain, if I can.”

Narvi had huffed. “I’ve met many Elves, and all of you are strange, yes. But you in particular are the most unusual. Always so cheerful.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Being cheerful? No.” Narvi had paused then. “Although I spoke badly. Cheerful isn’t the word I should have used.”

“Then what is it you mean?”

“In truth, it’s hard to put into words. How should I explain myself, ah. In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you angry.”

Celebrimbor had blinked. “Narvi, we argued nearly without interruption for at least a month after our first meeting. We still disagree on almost anything we work on. You have seen me angry on more occasions that I can think of.”

Narvi had made a dismissive gesture with her hand at that. “Arguing about work does not count. Anyone who loves their craft also loves to argue about it, and do not deny it. And I’m not talking of being frustrated because someone won’t agree with you, I’m talking of real anger, of the personal kind. I have seen people insult you to your face and you never showed more than some displeasure.”

“I have learnt how to not let petty words get to me.”

There had been a knowing glint in Narvi’s dark eyes, as if she could glimpse those feelings he was always so quick to lock away the moment they arose. “I would not call you a liar, my friend, but that did not sound truthful either.”

Celebrimbor had not known how to reply to that.

***

_His blood was boiling in a way it rarely had before. “Perhaps, father, if your words had been better chosen then Finrod would still be with us today.”_

_Curufin turned to his son. His anger had already been kindled by accusations thrown at him by Orodreth and the various lords of Nargothrond, the emotion plain on his face. “Better chosen? I spoke what was true!”_

“ _You filled people’s hearts with fear of Sauron, painting him as some undefeatable foe, and now a girl alone has been able to best him! Shame on you, and on your brother as well, for sending your cousin to his death!”_

_Curufin’s eyes widened, surprised that his own son would speak to him in such a way. “Finrod chose his own fate. And for what? To help some short lived mortal defy Morgoth? To help him pay for Thingol’s daughter with what is rightfully ours?”_

“ _Yours. Call it yours, for mine it is not.”_

_That had made Curufin stop, confusion crossing his features. “What are you talking about? The Silmarils are right of all of Fëanor’s descendants. They are as yours as they are mine.”_

_Celebrimbor had had enough. Enough, of all this senseless bloodshed in the name of an Oath he had not sworn. Enough, of following his father and uncles as they brought ruin to everyone around them. Enough, of being little more than a puppet that his father occasionally moved left and right in his schemes._

“ _I reject that right. In fact, I reject Fëanor’s blood in my veins.” The entire hall fell to silence upon hearing those words. As for himself, Celebrimbor could only hear the thundering of his heart in his ears. “Go, dirty your hands how you please, I will not try to reason with you anymore. But I will also not follow you anymore. I did not fill my mouth with Fëanor’s Oath, and I have no obligation of aiding you in taking the Silmarils from Morgoth.”_

_Many emotions flashed behind Curufin’s eyes, too many for Celebrimbor to name. Eventually, his father’s face settled in a mask of ice._

“ _You would talk to your own father this way?”_

“ _I would.”_

***

“What is it, that you are working on?”

Celebrimbor nearly jumped out of his skin at the whispered words right behind him. “Annatar! Please, make some noise when you walk!”

Annatar laughed. “I did not mean to scare you. Perhaps you were so absorbed in your project that you did not hear me.”

Celebrimbor took a deep breath. “Perhaps.”

Annatar leaned over his shoulder, to look at the blueprints on Celebrimbor’s desk. “May I ask what it is that has caught your attention so completely?”

“It is far from done, still.”

“Would you want some advice?”

Celebrimbor’s irritation rose. He did not need advice. Annatar’s knowledge was vast and precious, but Celebrimbor was not an Elfling who had never made anything before. He could go through some ideas on his own.

Besides, it was if he could never finish a project by himself lately. Every time he worked Annatar was there, looking, asking, observing. It was tiring. The Maia always tried to push and pull him in one direction or the other, as if he wanted Celebrimbor to make things for Annatar, rather than for himself. Celebrimbor had found himself wondering if perhaps Annatar’s generosity would demand a price, sooner or later.

Even now, Celebrimbor wondered what it was Annatar wanted. It was late at night, and Annatar’s quarters were far from Celebrimbor’s own workshop. There was no reason for him to be here. Unless he wanted to know what Celebrimbor was doing, to keep him under control.

Annatar tilted his head, expression full of nothing but desire to help.

Celebrimbor sighed. He hushes that paranoid part of himself, repressed the itch to hide his work from Annatar’s otherwordly eyes. The Maia had never done anything bad to him or his people. There was no reason for Celebrimbor to be suspicious, except a baseless gut feeling.

“May we speak of this tomorrow morning? I only now realized the time, and I should go rest for the few hours the night has left.”

Annatar nodded. “But of course.”

A voice in his mind kept telling him to keep Annatar at an arm’s length, least the Maia was hiding something unpleasant behind his smile.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. There was not a single actual reason to distrust Annatar. What had paranoia ever been good for? Nothing but suffering and misunderstandings.

***

“ _Maitimo was a damn fool to give control to Nolofinwë,” Tyelkormo said, shaking his head. “Watch them as they slow us down every second of the way. As if ripping the Silmarils from Morgoth’s crown wouldn’t be hard enough without them.”_

“ _Why would they do that? Nolofinwë has said he doesn’t hold any interest in the Silmarils,” Tyelperinquar said._

_Tyelkormo snorted, and both Carnistir and Curufinwë shook their heads._

“ _Son, just because Nolofinwë said he would not try to claim them it doesn’t mean he won’t make our fight to get them easier. We cannot trust him.”_

_Tyelperinquar levels his father with a skeptical look. “I know he has no love for us, but he hasn’t retaliated against us for the ships. I don’t want him ruling over me either, but if he had ill intentions he would have already shown them.”_

“ _If only politics were that easy,” Carnistir said. “Nolofinwë is no idiot, he knows he needs allies if he wants to stand a chance. Infighting between the Noldor would have helped neither of us. If he plans to be a thorn in our side, he will do so in the smart way, and we won’t know until it’s too late.”_

“ _We can’t trust any of them to care about us,” Tyelkormo said._

“ _Is Nolofinwë’s daughter not your friend, uncle? Is she also not be trusted?”_

_Tyelkormo at least looked embarrassed by that. “Well, yes, maybe she would more sympathetic. But she isn’t the one with the crown. She can only do so much, and I doubt she would be able to turn her father and brothers to our side if needed.”_

“ _Findekáno saved Maitimo from Thangorodrim. Was that not proof enough that he isn’t a threat to us?”_

“ _It’s proof enough that he is a reckless idiot,” Carnistir said, rolling eyes. “I’ll thank him for giving us Maitimo back, yes, but just because he’s friends with him it doesn’t mean he’s friends with all of us. Would he have done the same, had it been me or you hanging there? I doubt it.”_

_Tyelperinquar wanted to argue that Findekáno shouldn’t have been expected to do that for anyone at all. No one would have ever asked him to save Maitimo, not when Maitimo’s own brothers had been unable to. Findekáno had always been known to be fair to everyone, and his friendship was easy to gain and hard to break. Would he have taken Tyelperinquar back from Thangorodrim? No, but that was hardly a fair standard to judge him._

_Curufinwë put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You have a good heart, Tyelpe, and that is a good thing, but you’re too naive. We cannot expect Nolofinwë’s help without him asking for something in exchange. That is not how the world works.”_

***

“Come in,” Celebrimbor said, when someone knocked at his door. He raised his head from the sketch of his new work, turning to look at his visitor.

He hadn’t expected Turgon himself to be at his door. He rose hastily, to greet his cousin and King properly.

“Relax. There is no need for these formalities,” Turgon said, raising his hand to stop Celebrimbor mid bow.

He straightened up. “What brings you here, your Majesty?”

“I wanted to thank you, Celebrimbor.”

“Thank me?” Celebrimbor tried to think of anything he had done recently to have Turgon himself come to him to offer gratitude.

“Yes. Every since you came to Gondolin, you have done nothing but work for others. I know how many swords and armors you have forged, and how many of them you have away without asking for payment. Not to mention the help you have offered for civil constructions. You have always been known as generous, and I am glad to see how true that is.”

“You have offered me and the other survivors of Nargothrond hospitality. The least I can do to repay you it’s to make myself useful.”

Turgon smiled. “What kind of King would I be if I denied hospitality to my own kin?”

His own kin, he said. Oh, what a good relative Turgon was. Yes, he had taken Celebrimbor in, when Celebrimbor had come stumbling through the mountains, leading a scared group of people who had lost their home when Nargothrond had fell. Because Turgon loved his kin so much, yes, and especially when they were from Celebrimbor’s side of the family.

Anger warmed his chest. Turgon had not offered aid to Nargothrong when it had been sacked. He had not been moved by the suffering and struggling of the people he now lead, always hiding himself in his city while the rest of Beleriand went to ruin. Sure, his hospitality was great. To Celebrimbor, who had cut all contacts with his family, to Maeglin, that had lost both parents in the most tragic of ways, to Tuor, the son of Turgon’s old friend that Turgon’s daughter liked so much. Because giving out hospitality to a handful of lost and broken people when they had no one else they could ask for help was how you won wars.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath, and hoped his internal turmoil did not show on his face. Turgon had made Gondolin great by keeping it hidden and safe. If he acted the way he did, it was only to protect his people. Celebrimbor had no right to throw accusations at him.

He was not so sure he would not be thrown in a cell, if he did.

“What kind of guest would I be, if I did not make myself useful to my host?” he decided to reply instead.

“I do not keep you here only because you are useful.”

“I like to be.”

After Turgon was gone, Celebrimbor threw himself back into his work. Some called him obsessive, but the truth was that he knew, better than most others in Gondolin, what life was like in the rest of Beleriand. He knew that ruin would one day reach even this hidden city.

Of course he never accepted anything in exchange for his work. He worked because he loved to, because he had to. It would be pointless for him to make sword after sword and then just put them on his shelves as some useless trinket.

He only wished there was a way to rid himself of this anger that kept growing in him. At Turgon, at Morgoth, at the whole world. It always boiled in him lately, ready to explode into fury at any second. He didn’t understand why he could never completely free himself of it.

It scared him.

***

_Tyelperinquar’s sword sunk deep into the Teleri’s stomach. He could not tear his eyes away from that face, turning in a grimace of pain and shock. A choked sound came from the Teleri’s lips, and blood spilled from them right after it. His body jerked in an aborted motion that would never be completed._

_Tyelperinquar wrenched his sword back, sliding it out with a sickening sound. The Teleri crumbled to the ground, the light of his fëa leaving his eyes._

_Tyelperinquar’s stomach ached as in sympathy with his victim’s. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the corpse, and the knowledge that he had been the one to deal the killing blow. The pool of blood was getting larger and larger. Large enough that Tyelperinquar could drown in it._

_He gasped, jumping away, when another body fell just to his left._

“ _What were you looking at? You almost got killed!”_

_His mouth refused to form words. His grandfather’s expression was grim, his armor stained. None of the Teleri were wearing armor. None of them had expected what had been coming for them._

_Fëanáro looked down at the body in front of Tyelperinquar. “Did that one fall by your hand?” he asked._

_Tyelperinquar nodded._

_Fëanáro clapped his shoulder. “Good job, Tyelpe. Be strong, it’s almost over.”_

_Tyelperinquar wanted to scream._

_Good job? How could this be a good job? They had taken the lives of so many innocents, and for what? Ships? Floating pieces of wood and rope? Were some ships truly worth all of this?_

_Fëanáro did not appear perturbed by the dead and the dying. He engaged in combat once again, with another opponent. The look on his face when her head rolled off her body was almost one of satisfaction._

_Tyelperinquar had never been scared of his grandfather before. Fëanáro could be difficult, but he had always been good to his grandson._

_Now, the sight of his grandfather chilled him to the bone. Tyelperinquar’s sword weighed his arm down more than it should have._

***

“Ah!”

Tyelperinquar’s hammer fell down, and he gripped his hand in pain.

“Tyelpe? Is everything alright?” Curufinwë asked.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“It is not good to lie, my son.”

Tyelperinquar grimaced, but confessed. “I hit my finger with the hammer. But I’m fine! I swear!”

Curufinwë immediately dropped his work, and went to his son’s side. “Let me see.”

Tyelperinquar took his glove off, showing the hand to his father. Curufinwë examined it carefully, making him bend his fingers to check they all worked well. Tyelperinquar squirmed under his father’s concern.

“You will have an ugly bruise in a few hours, but you did not do any real damage. Do you want to continue?”

“I can?” Tyelperinquar blurted.

Curufinwë tilted his head. “Of course you can. Why not?”

Tyelperinquar looked down. In truth, he had been scared his father would have told him to stop what he was doing altogether. He had only recently been given permission to work on his own in the forge, without someone constantly supervisioning his every move. Curufinwë had kept saying he didn’t want to see Tyelperinquar hurt himself on accident for the longest time, and Tyelperinquar had repeated that he was old enough to not set himself on fire on accident until his father had caved in.

And not two days after he was finally allowed to work on his own, he hammered his own finger.

Curufinwë ruffled his hair. Tyelperinquar tried to move away. He was way too old for his father to do that. “We have all done something like this at first. You don’t know how many black nails I gave myself with my hammer. It’s an easy mistake to make. But I can kiss your finger better, if you want.”

“No!” He wasn’t a child.

Curufinwë chuckled, and bent down to pick up the hammer. “Go on, then. I’m looking forward to the end results.”

“It won’t be as good as your works,” Tyelperinquar said.

“But it will be something my son made, and how could I not love something that my son’s hands shaped? Admitting he will still have hands by the end.”

“Father!” Tyelperinquar lowered his head, smiling despite how warm his cheeks felt.

Curufinwë grinned at him. “Embarrassed, Tyelpe? Get used to it, because I fully intend to show your work off to our whole family, including the ones we don’t get along with. I can already see how proud grandfather will be of you.”

***

_Celebrimbor cried when news of his father’s death reached him. He did not cry in front of the messenger, waiting until he was back in the safety of his room to break down. He sat on the floor like a child, trying to muffle his sobs in his arms._

_He had tried to harden his heart. Even since that day in Nargothrond, Celebrimbor had told himself that he had to be strong. If his family cared to little for others they would waste all those lives for the Silmarils, Celebrimbor could teach himself not to care about some murderers who happened to share his blood._

_He did not manage. His heart had always been too soft, or so he had been told. Every memory of every crime he tried to conjure only served to remind him of better memories, from better times. It hurt. He wished there was a way for him to carve his heart out of his chest and set it in crystal, putting it on his shelf as a reminder of his own weaknesses._

_But he knew what people turned into when they lost their hearts. This pain was a price he had to pay if he did not want to become like the rest of his family._

_Kinslayer and kidnapper and liar, his father had been. Eyes of ice and back held as straight as by a metal rod, those were the last memories Celebrimbor had of him. Not the father he had known once, that Curufin had died so long ago. At Alqualondë, when Celebrimbor’s mother died, when Maedhros was captured, Celebrimbor did not know when it happened exactly. He would never know the real date in which he lost his father forever._

_He wondered if Curufin would have cried for him, if Celebrimbor had been the one to die instead._

_He knew the answer to that question, and it only wrenched more hopeless tears._

***

“I know some people don’t want to stay here,” Gil-Galad said. “I can hardly blame them. Sindar and Noldor cannot share the same city for long.”

“I know, and I agree. But it would be better if they waited before leaving, at least until we have established ourselves. There will be conflict, but no group has recovered from the sinking of Beleriand yet. If some of the Enemy’s creatures still live, divided we would not stand a chance. But why do you speak to me of this?”

Gil-Galad kept staring ahead of himself as they walked. He carried himself as a king, his steps sure and his posture proud. Celebrimbor, who had seen more kings than he had ever wished to, could see the fragility Gil-Galad still had. He was so young, little more than a child in Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“I heard that some would wish for you as a leader,” Gil-Galad said.

“Me? Surely the Sindar did not forget whose blood I carry.”

“Not the Sindar,” Gil-Galad specified. “A group of Noldor.”

“I didn’t know of this,” Celebrimbor admitted. “Are you sure of what you heard? I hardly consider myself the most beloved of this land.”

“Not everyone still hates you for your family’s actions. What remains of your uncles’ followers would prefer to follow you rather than me. Both because of our respective legacies, and of your age.”

This was indeed news to Celebrimbor. He had busied himself ever since Beleriand had been sunk, trying to help where he could, and to forget memories that refused to leave him be. He hadn’t paid much attention to politics. Considering how many, Noldor and Sindar alike, still resented him for his lineage, Celebrimbor was rather surprised by these new developments.

“I do not plan on taking the throne from you, if that is what worries you. Believe it or not, Maedhros used to be wise, once, and his decision of taking us out of the line of succession is not one I resent,” Celebrimbor said.

“I believe you. But tell me, once we have gained some strength, will you take those people and leave? You said it yourself, you understand why people want to leave.”

Youth did not make Gil-Galad a fool. The King clearly knew he had to keep his control on this frail situation as much as possible.

“I shall think about it. I’ve never been a leader myself, I cannot say whether or not I will consider myself prepared to govern over someone. But worry not, your Majesty. I intend to serve you, regardless of what the future will hold.”

In truth, Celebrimbor had no wish to lead anyone. Not with his family’s legacy when it came to that. In past, maybe, he would have been honored to have people’s faith in him, but now, now he felt safer in knowing he had a stronger authority above him. Less chances for him to remind Mandos that there was still one of Fëanor’s blood who had not received his Doom yet.

At least, this young King, who by all means should have hated Celebrimbor but did not, seemed a promising enough authority.

***

_He had followed the rest of Gondolin’s refugees in Sirion when the city fell. In hindsight, perhaps becoming a hermit in the mountains would have been a wiser choice for him._

_The Sindar hated him. How could he blame them, when his family had killed so many of them, and so cruelly? Not one of them would speak to him, and they often spat after he walked._

_One day, after yet another insult, his rage tipped over and he shouted in anger and the one who had offended him. Knowing they had their right to hate him did not mean he did not care about their words. The Sinda jumped back in fear when he raised his voice, a look of deep fear on his face. Only then did Celebrimbor remember just how alike his father and him had looked, and how many of the Sindar still remembered Curufin’s face as he decimated them._

_He was a monster to them. The not only hated him, they feared him. That fear cut much deeper than the hate did._

_When he learnt that Doriath’s princess was there, and that she had the Silmaril with her, Celebrimbor was horrified. The mere thought of that gem so close to him had his stomach turning. That thing had warped the minds of his grandfather and father and uncles. He didn’t want it anywhere near him._

_He did not want to have it. Even if he had, Galadriel and Celeborn guarded Elwing more closely than wolves guarded Angband. Celebrimbor neither desired the gem nor knew how to get it, but still he kept his distance. He was scared, so scared of what the Silmaril may do to him._

_He avoided the Sindar, all of them. After the Third Kinslaying, he also started to avoid other Noldor._

_He roughly dried his tears for Amrod and Amras, the only one in Sirion to cry for them, even if they did not deserve it. His uncles had known Celebrimbor was there, and still they had attacked. He knew his life did not matter more than that of the of the many innocents who had been killed, but he had thought at least their bond of blood would have made Celebrimbor more than another piece of meat standing between them and the Silmaril._

_He told himself not to care for them, as they clearly had not cared for him. Once again, his traitor heart refused to._

_At least now the Silmaril was where no one would be able to take it. Celebrimbor cursed the bloodshed his family had brought, but he was grateful the gem was away from him. Many times, he had seen greedy eyes turn towards it, but no one else had killed for it in the way the sons of Fëanor had. The gem may have had power of its own, but Celebrimbor’s blood was weak._

***

Guilt danced at the edges of Celebrimbor’s heart, and he attempted to ignore it. It wasn’t as if he had done anything bad. So what, if he had started working on those rings while Annatar was away? He would tell Annatar about them once the Maia came back. It wouldn’t be a secret. And he wasn’t planning on keeping the rings, either, he already knew who he wanted to give them to.

Yes, it was true Celebrimbor found it harder and harder to trust Annatar of late. It did not have to mean Celebrimbor had become paranoid. Gil-Galad was constantly warning him that there had to be some hidden meaning behind Annatar’s actions, and Narvi kept saying the Maia gave her a bad feeling. They were Celebrimbor’s friends, and it was sensible for one to be influenced by their friends. Normal.

He tossed and turned in bed, sleep eluding him. He was not turning into Fëanor, he repeated himself. He was not becoming secretive and paranoid, hiding things from others and keeping his works close to his heart. He wasn’t casting those rings out of selfishness or desire to prove himself.

He had decided long ago he would not become Fëanor, consumed by anger and lust for revenge. Nor would he become Curufin, cold and uncaring, mind twisted by his Oath. And he would not become Maedhros, either, cracking under the weight of his own actions.

No, he would keep his sanity. He had done a good job at it so far. His heart was weary, but Celebrimbor still cared for others. He was proud of his works, but he had never become greedy, never had any desire to hoard his finest creations. He shoved all his anger and grief down, down, down, pressed them into dark corners only he knew of, never let anyone else see them. Most people had by now forgotten where he came from. They respected him for his craft, and did not begrudge him the use of his family’s star in his works.

Only Celebrimbor could never forget that he was a Fëanorian, no matter how much time passed.

But if he put enough effort into this, maybe he would not be bound by the madness that his blood carried. If he kept doing his best, he could leave this Middle Earth better than his family had. He could leave a happier legacy, a better one, not tainted by the pain and death.

He could prove, if only to himself, that he could save himself from the fate of his kin.

***

_His father had told him he was too naive._


End file.
